Comparative Mythology and the Heroic Tradition
by sniperrifle001
Summary: 4th year is drawing to a close and the end of an era is near. They have lived every story and experienced every genre. In his last chapter, does Abed dare to experience the one story he hasn't yet? His own? Abed/Annie
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **This story is the brainchild of another story I had written that I wasn't quite satisfied with. That story is now gone, this is the one in its place. Don't worry, nothing of value was lost.

**Chapter I**

_I had one woman come up to me in a bookstore and say, 'You know, everyone told me it was a horror book, but when I finished it, I realized that it was a love story.' And she's absolutely right. In some ways, genre is a marketing tool._

_Mark Z. Danielewski_

In the days after the departure of Troy Barnes from the study group, it became apparent to all parties involved, that their time of bliss, their unlikely adventures, but most of all their serendipitous relationships, were coming to an end. Jeff had made his way back into the law profession, Shirley's business was taking off in a manner that many, least of all herself, would not have thought plausible. Peirce had graduated although still kept auditing classes, Britta was finally starting to fit the pieces of her life together, and Annie was, as she had in hospital administration before, excelling in forensics.

That leaves one more, Abed Nadir, age 23, filmmaker. A common sight around Greendale's campus, from his critically acclaimed meta-film on the life of Jesus, to his charismatic rolls in the Paintball Wars, he had created for himself quite the reputation; a first in his life. But his reputation had preceded him, left him unaware, as was his nature, and sometimes flummoxed or even hindered him.

The C- he had received in his Advanced Screenwriting class was one such incident. To the common acquaintance or one who knew Abed by name and reputation alone, such a grade would've seemed incredulous to the great prodigy of their time. And it was indeed, even to himself a source of great shock and indignation that he had received such a low grade. It took him a while, going so far as to trying to completely ignore the entirety of the assignment and the corresponding grade in those first brief moments of disbelief, to come to grips with this revelation. He did however, eventually, swallow his pride and look over the professor's notes.

He acknowledged the character of the critiques as being essentially valid, but as he continued to scan the page it became evident that it was not so much the strength of his script but the forms of his stories that irked the one with the red pen. Such were the trials of this new age of filmmakers, thus was the eternal war between the forces of creation and synthesis and that of the arcane orthodoxy. What did he, this Professor Krimmer, know of the genres of sci-fi and fantasy, of meta-fiction and transmedia stories? What right does he have to judge the trailblazers and the innovators?

For a second his resentment got the better of him. For a moment he felt the heat of fires of criticism upon his walls of his genius. But soon his reason came back to him and he humbled himself before the wisdom of his teacher, even if he was only a Greendale teacher; lest he make the fatal flaw of hubris.

He waited and silently listened to the second lecture of the semester. The first class was the standard issue survey and review of the syllabus, required textbooks, and recommended readings. This class was a brief summary of the traditions of storytelling as well as their forms. From the epic poetry of Gilgamesh and Beowulf, to the cyclical medievalist literature of Arthurian constitution, to the modern sub-division of genre and medium, he had all seen it before, he had read Campbell, and memorized Joyce. What was to be gleaned from the insights of this hack? What right did he have to judge Abed so harshly?

When the class ended Abed stayed behind to talk to Professor Krimmer about his grade.

ABED

Professor Krimmer, may I have a word with you about my assignment?

KRIMMER

Ah yes, of course Abed. It was a good effort. Well structured, strong, clever.

ABED

Oh, I was under the impression that you didn't like it.

KRIMMER

Why would you say that?

ABED

A C- normally doesn't inspire confidence.

KRIMMER

Oh come now Abed, it's still early in the semester. This grade doesn't count for much.

ABED

I'm not so much concerned with how this affects my GPA as I am by what principle on which I had failed this assignment.

KRIMMER

What principle? There wasn't a principle, Abed. I said; write what you want, whatever you like, just make it a good story.

ABED

And you found mine to not be a good story?

KRIMMER

Abed, I think you may be taking this a little personally. I liked it, it was a fun story. It just didn't have… weight, you know?

ABED

I'm sorry, I'm not sure I understand.

KRIMMER  
_(folding his arms and leaning back on his desk)_

Of course not Abed. Look, you'll have plenty of time to get it right. Don't worry so much about the first assignment.

ABED

Could you be a little more specific as to what you mean by weight?

KRIMMER

Abed, you're a talented filmmaker. But perhaps, writing just isn't your thing.

ABED

But I don't agree, I understand story structure, narrative motif, pathos, motivations—

KRIMMER

There, there it is.

ABED

Motivations?

KRIMMER

Exactly. You think you understand human motivations? Because it's certainly not represented in this script.

ABED

The characters are great, they are smart, resourceful, clever, they have a weakness like all good characters do—

KRIMMER

You've got it all wrong Abed. Look, I know what you are thinking. I can hear the cogs turning in your brain. I can see the teleplay being written in your mind. My name, your name, my line, your line. The structure, the flow, the probable outcomes, all endings in all circumstances; you fancy yourself a god of stories. But the thing is Abed, _(beat)_ gods don't tell the stories. We do. The lowly peons that are so often the scorn or the victims of these cosmic forces, you call fate, choice, death, war, love.

_Pause. Abed looks down at his shoes, processing._

KRIMMER

You cannot be above it all. You can't disconnect yourself from the feelings and passions of the people of the world. If this is a story, you are a character in it, not a god who can control it. You can't perfectly fit them into archetypes and tropes. To do so is to miss the meaning of the story you are trying to tell. Because no matter how hard you try, how specific you chart and categorize action and motivation, you will never peer into the infinite complexities of the human experience. What drives Icarus to fly? What drives men to fight dragons?

* * *

The words of Professor Krimmer came as a surprise. He had been unprepared to encounter such a force or a challenge. And that was what, Abed deduced, his speech had set out to do; to challenge him. But he had long sought to take the other road to greatness; the one with no pain involved. He opted to let the storytellers of the past inform him of what stories were important and worth telling. He had let mere data become the story. He had never considered for a second that he might actually live the story.

Professor Krimmer gave Abed the sheet for the assignment that he was going to hand out next lecture, just so Abed could get a head start on it. He read it and reread it the whole way home. Between the focus on his next assignment to the words of the professor, his minded drift far above his earthly body and let the low functioning motor skills he had mastered by the time he could walk take over. He was only brought back from his lofty thoughts by a door.

His own door.

He took out the key from his pocket and let himself in. The humming of the overworked and underpowered air conditioner heralded his return once more to his home base, his sanctum sanctorum, his Millennium Falcon, his Batcave. Now just a little lonelier than it had been. The afternoon light flooded in through the windows of the apartment marking the most tranquil time of day. He made his way over to the living room and saw Annie in the kitchen. Dressed only in her panties and an oversized t-shirt, she stood at the counter absent-mindedly making herself a salad. Her hair cascaded from the top of her head and crashed along the contours of her shoulder but otherwise hanging gently in the air as she gazed down at her task. He had realized that he had been staring at her and narrating his mind's vision when she looked over at him. Caught off guard by the sudden glance, his eyes jumped a little. She flashed him a tired but adoring smile as if to say _hi, how was your day?_ His relaxing facial expression would reply _good, at least, it is now._

He thought back to the beginning, if indeed something was coming to an end, be it their time in Greendale, or forever the dynamics of their friendship, or something even greater, he wondered if he would, in this final moment, merely document, as he had always done, the collapse so something so significant and precious or to do something about it.

_What drives Icarus to fly? _

_What drives men to fight dragons?_

He looked at her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter II**

_There's something ugly about a pretty boy who knows he's pretty and assumes everyone else know it too._

_Nova Ren Suma_

Had her abilities of observation increased, like a preternatural skill, or had she simply been thinking like him again? She did that sometimes now. It had started by the slightest of efforts. She would stare at a seemingly ordinary bowl of ice cream that he had placed on the counter, simply because he was doing the same. At the beginning it was just a mere function of curiosity. _A what was he thinking _sort of thing. But it didn't stop there. It took no time at all for her to start to see the world through his eyes; the mechanisms of causality, the interweaving collisions of choice and behaviour, that deep unknowable void of inevitability.

Or perhaps her long hours in forensics classrooms simply started yielding real world results.

Either way it dawned on her just then, although recalling innumerable instances before without difficulty, that Jeff spoke, or rather said, a lot with his hands. She watched as he flailed them around, emphatically punctuating his point with his closed fist slamming down on an imaginary button that sat just inches above the surface of the table. There was a certain cadence to his speech; a natural rhythm to even the most unfamiliar ear, that he maintained with great efforts of constancy.

She wondered perhaps if it was from the years of courtroom theatrics, or a vestigial manifestation of an ancient trauma, or perhaps just the natural ensigns of those of his alpha-male temperament. All options seemed plausible, all seemed likely, in fact.

Regardless, if she hadn't been paying much attention to his words, it wouldn't matter much as it didn't seem likely that he was much interested in her response. To say that he spoke just to hear himself talk would be selling him a little short but one would be forgiven, if on a passing acquaintance, that was the first impression one formed of this Jeff Winger. However, he was in the end, much more than that.

But to describe him now, as he was before, as Annie once knew him, would be merely dredging up past glories. She picked at her food with her obscenely shiny fork, catching the odd buzzword, he espoused with greater than normal enthusiasm, _deposition_, _suit_, _winning_, _blondes_. She tried to smile at the things he smiled at, she feigned interest as best she could. She tried to be proud when he was, although it pained her to see him regaling in his petty courtroom victories as if they could ever rival his exploits at Greendale.

Had this been the man she had fallen in love with? Had she ever been in love with him? Was Jeff Winger merely a dream frozen in time, in the oddball fantasy she had lived in the confines of Greendale Community College? She wished desperately for him to want to be with her. Not merely to be with her, sometimes almost as if it were a mere obligation. Sometimes, she wished she could see inside his mind. She wondered if he felt as conflicted as she did. She wondered if he loved her and resented her in equal measure, the same way she did him.

Were she to describe him to a prospective friend, he would be everything a girl could want. Tall, handsome, charming, smart, ambitious (although in the wrong way), had a well-paying job, a nice car, and more caring than he would like to admit.

However, something had changed when he graduated. No one, least of all Annie herself, seemed to want to acknowledge it at the time. And on the surface, indeed it was not that different. In fact, it may have been better. At least that was the line she was feeding herself for the first few months. They went to see movies together, he even showed up at yet another one of Greendale's infamous dances just to hang out. He even took her on dinner dates (well she called them dates), the grown up kind, with mood lighting, and menus with only two options on it.

But as time wore on and each successive meeting seemed more and more token, each conversation drifted further and further away from their Greendale dynamic, she felt as if she was being filed away as just another little compartment of his life. It wasn't his fault, it was within his nature. If he could keep everything in his life separate, in a little box, there was nothing he couldn't handle. If anything was not to his liking, he could simply dump that box without it collapsing the rest of his life.

Modularity, not merely for post-modern furniture design anymore.

Had she become one of his "girls"? She wondered. Had she just become another one of Jeff Winger's worldly creature comforts? At the risk of being unfair to his character, it felt more and more to her that Jeff was merely interested in Annie as a method of obtaining his necessary dose of intimacy without commitment. They had always been close and he was the last person to deny that. But even as she threw herself at him, with the doe eyes, and the subtle hair toss, to the gentle caresses of their hands, it never seemed to go any further. She had on her occasions of good sense, been thankful that he had never taken advantage of her… vulnerability, but at the same time seemed to be hanging onto her unrequited affections for his own self-gratification.

"Am I boring you?" Jeff asked casually as he took a sip of his wine.

"No, not at all," Annie replied nervously, "just a long day."

"How are classes?" Jeff asked.

"Oh you know, fine. It's Greendale. You don't want to hear about it," Annie replied with a dismissive flick of her hand.

"No, I want to know," Jeff insisted.

"Honestly, it's a little different now that you're not around," Annie said. "I mean, nothing serious has happened, we still see each other. We just don't… see all of us that much anymore. It seems like we don't make an effort to hang out as a group much anymore."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he replied.

"No, it's okay. It's not like it is your fault or anything," Annie said. "Sometimes, I wish we could go back to the way things were before."

"I get that," Jeff said leaning back into his chair as he tossed his fork onto the plate of his mostly devoured stake. "But hey, things change."

"You say that so easily," Annie said with a despondent voice.

"Well, it's just one of those things you have to learn, Annie," Jeff replied. "Trust me, life's easier if you learn to let go sometimes."

Annie gave Jeff a sarcastic smirk.

"What?" Jeff asked, betraying his genuine perplexity.

"You know what," Annie replied with a shortness of patience in her voice.

"No, I don't, what did I do?" Jeff asked.

"Nothing, just forget it," Annie said trying to veer away from an inevitably ugly conversation.

"From my experience, _just forget it_, usually means, _I'm mad as hell_," Jeff said sitting back up as his lawyer voice returned to him.

"What's going on with us?" Annie asked bluntly as if to throw off the rhythm of his attack. That's how Jeff worked, if you let him control the pace and direction of a conversation, he would bury you.

"What?" Jeff asked dismayed. "What do you mean? We're… having dinner, like grownups. That's what you wanted right?"

"Don't be condescending," Annie replied.

"How, am I? I'm not being condescending," Jeff said trying to regain his conversational footing.

"Why this fancy restaurant, picking me up from my place, the paying for dinner…." Annie trailed off. "How long are we gonna keep doing this?"

"This is what you wanted!" Jeff replied with renewed zeal. "Right?"

"It's been four months, just hanging out, having drinks, just us…" Annie said ignoring Winger's deflections.

"Annie, we have fun together, we can talk… about anything, that's why I keep asking you out to dinner, I like that we can talk…" Jeff tried to talk to her down.

"We that's great for you, Jeff. It's always great for you, isn't it?" Annie said as her voice became more and more angry. "You know how I feel…"

"Annie, it's not that simple. I really _really_ like what we have," Jeff continued. "I don't want to lose that."

"And what makes you think we would lose that?" Annie asked ferociously.

"I just… I don't…" He stuttered.

"Smooth Jeff Winger, the man of a thousand words, what's wrong?" Annie pressed home. "What's wrong? You can say anything but the truth. If it were up to you, you'd dance around this forever, wouldn't you?"

"Annie…" Jeff hesitated. "It's not like that."

There was a pause between the two and although she knew better, it felt like the whole restaurant was staring at them.

"No, it's not is it…" Annie continued. "I'm not a surrogate girlfriend Jeff."

"No, of course not," Jeff said.

"You can't just go and… _fuck_ your girls," she spat out the words violently. "And use me as your emotional dump."

"That's not what I'm doing, Annie." Jeff said trying to laugh it off. "We're friends. We talk about stuff. Lighten up!"

And there it was. Jeff Winger's patented mixed of condescension and faux-levity. It baffled her that she had at all found that quality, at one point in time, attractive in him. What was she to do now? Play it off as if she were a being a petulant little girl. He'd like that; in fact that's what he was hoping for. It was just another one of his tricks for slipping out of tough conversations.

"You're an asshole, Jeff," she said as she got up.

The drink tangled in her hand, her arm stretched out ready to deliver the final blow. She could've threw it in his face, she could've displayed her displeasure right there in the room in front of everyone, she could've stormed out in a fit of rage. But she thought better of it. A drink in his face would just inflate his ego, getting a rise out of her and making her act crazy was his end goal. It meant that, despite ignoring and belittling all of her feelings, she would have to later apologize to him for her hysterics.

No, not this time.

Perhaps, something in her was changing. Perhaps it had been for a long time and she just hadn't been willing to admit it to herself. Had her childish fantasies started to fall apart? Could she see the crevices that marked its imminent destruction? Did the marble effigy of the heroic Jeff Winger in her mind begun to erode with every encounter she had with reality of its likeness? Could the hero ever truly live up to the myth?

Or perhaps, she was simply growing up.

In either case, she thought better of it and put the drink down, dropped a few bills on the table and simply left.

* * *

A single perfectly prepared emerald drink awaited her on the counter of the breakfast bar upon her return. The Appletini that she had spent so many hours trying to perfect, sat there more beautiful than any she had ever managed to concoct. It greeted her as a final conciliatory reward for all of her brave efforts during the day. She gently picked it up by the tips of her fingers as she beamed with delight and took a sip. The sweetness and flavour hit the back of her throat and sizzled a little before it went down.

The apartment was quiet, but it seemed to always be quiet now as there were only two of them left. Most nights, Annie spent working on her assignments or engaged in her own little projects. Abed done what he had always done, watched TV or simulate his famed dreamscapes in the newly reconsecrated Dreamatorium.

This night, she found him in his chair in front of the TV not with a movie playing but a book in his lap; several of them actually. She hadn't noticed until now, but it seemed like, despite his good grades, he never actually work on anything school related. This may have been the first time she had seen Abed… studying.

"What are you working on?" Annie asked as she dropped her purse on the counter.

"Researching, for a movie," Abed replied as he took a brief glance over at her.

It was yet beyond her abilities to detect, although not for long, Abed feared, but he had stolen a mental picture of her. She had always looked especially nice on the nights when she went out with Jeff. She put in such an effort to look more grown up, to look more elegant. He could hear her spending hours in her room, trying on different outfits and clumsily hopping around trying to get her uncomfortable shoes on. Occasionally she would storm out of her room with an explosion of makeup on her face, only to go to the bathroom to wash it off and start again. He wondered if Jeff had noticed. It was within his character to know the effect he had on people; indeed he took pride in it. But did he truly understand how he affected Annie? Did he mean to do it to her? If so, how could he?

She removed the trappings of her fancy façade, kicking off her heels and letting her hair down as she plopped herself down on the chair opposite Abed. Her gentle silence betrayed her stoic poker face. The way she downed the drink confirmed what he had already known. She was near her breaking point. Later tonight she would consider how he would apologize to him and as a result she would stare at her phone with her thumbs ever hovering over the touchscreen keyboard for hours and not get any sleep.

"It's not a good idea," Abed said absent-mindedly without lifting his gaze or his pen from his notebook.

"What?" She asked.

"Don't text him tonight," Abed replied simply and without hesitation.

"How did you—" Annie tried to say.

"Come on, it's not difficult. You came home, posture slumped, took to that Appletini I made you real hard, and you always just drop into the chair if you're in a bad mood…" Abed said finally looking over at her.

"You knew?" Annie asked staring at him with a puzzled expression.

Abed smiled. Because he could do that around her. He scanned the contours of her face. He noted the slightly drooped eyelids that told him of her weariness, and of her overzealous mascara, the hidden cries of her reddened eyes, the wondrous disorder of her hair. He thought to himself_, of course I know. How could I not?_

But instead he just smiled.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter III**

_For years, copying other people, I tried to know myself.  
From within, I couldn't decide what to do.  
Unable to see, I heard my name being called.  
Then I walked outside._

_Rumi_

It had been into the darkest hours, when the distinction between late night and early morning blurs, that Abed and Annie kept each other company. When she arrived home from her less than magical date with Jeff, for they were always, without exception less than magical these days, she had found herself in a considerably better mood after indulging three Appletini's and the defeat and triumph over Ganon in Ocarina of Time, which she had been working on for the last two weeks. All the while, Abed had been deeply engrossed in the various books in front of him, only occasionally glancing up to give her warnings about things in the game that she had overlooked.

She had gone on at length, and with much repetition, about her grievances, particularly, although not exclusively, about Jeff. It became apparent to him, that while outwardly manifesting all of the symptoms of unrequited love, which she had so ardently displayed with her early infatuation with Troy, there was much more on her mind. Interspersed with her diatribe about the fake-ness of Jeff's lawyer persona, to the demeaning way that he still treated her, she would pop in a throwaway comment about her mother. Later while complaining about the restaurant and his apparent inability to get passed the looks of a woman, his gaze had been wandering around the place the whole time, she mentioned her fears about getting a job after graduation.

It didn't take him very long, even as an utterly passive participant in the conversation, he had learned that when Annie needed to vent, she simply need to talk with the most minimal of input on his part, that while her frustration with Jeff were very real, she had been feeling the same anxieties about change that he was. Lately, it seemed that despite their apparent and effectual denial of the reality of their situation, it escaped neither of their attentions, that with the departing of Troy, something had been missing. In his private contemplations, Abed had thought that only having two of them living together would bring them closer but instead it only seemed to erect this unaddressed wall of personal space between them. And while they did share meals together, as Abed had started to learn out to cook as there was much less fun to be had without his best friend around, and Annie did start taking more of an interest in his movies and games, they had lost what intimacy they had built in the Dreamatorium last year.

The conversation they had that night, even if Annie did the majority of the talking, had been the most time they had spent together in months. And maybe it was just the alcohol talking, but her candid nature, her relaxed disposition, and the sweetness of her laughter had reminded him of what they used to be like.

When she had finally passed out in the chair next to him and when he had finally had enough of the textbooks, he gently picked her up off of the chair and took her to her room. He took great care in tucking her into bed. A task made much more difficult with his reluctance to turn on the lights for fear of waking her up. She rolled onto her stomach soon as he had covered her with the duvet. He should've left; he knew that. But instead, he sat down on the floor next to her bed and leaned against it. He noted the rhythm of her whispered breathing. Her hand slowly traced the surface of her sheets and dreamily ran through his hair before languidly falling off the edge of the bed next to his face. He absent-mindedly and gently reached out and held her hand. He massaged the centre of her palm, stealing another moment of contact that was by no means his.

She wondered if he thought she was asleep. Indeed she was for a while but she had awoken when she realized she was being carried into her room. It didn't seem natural, and her while her frame was by no means imposing, for him to be able to carry her with such ease.

_Why was he still here?_ She wondered while continuing to pretend to sleep. _Is this a movie bit? _

He didn't have a camera. He just sat there, for minutes, unmoved.

Finally he spoke.

"You know, I miss him too." He said in hush tones. "But everybody knows that. He knows that."

_Does he know I'm awake?_ She wondered.

"I said at the beginning of the year that I was okay with change." He continued. "But I'm really not; not if this is going to be the way things are from now on, I'd like to go back."

_I bet he thinks I'm asleep,_ she giggled internally.

"The worst part is, I have no one to talk to about this," Abed spoke. "I would usually talk to Troy, but that's no longer an option. I wish I could talk to you."

_He definitely thinks I'm asleep_, Annie thought.

"But you've been so preoccupied with Jeff," he continued. "And I know we have to move on eventually. I get that. But I like what we had. Greendale has been the best time of my life. I wish I could stay here forever."

_Have I been ignoring you?_ Annie asked. _Why didn't you tell me?_

"I get that I'm having a pity party for myself," Abed said. "Don't worry, you won't hear about it from me in the morning."

_Awwwww._

"Heh," he chuckled. "You know what my screenwriting professor told me last week? He told me that I was afraid to live. He told me, that I use TV and movies to shield myself from the outside world; from real emotions and real connections."

_Abed, why are you saying these things?_ Annie thought to herself.

She lay there, silent and still, with Abed's head only inches away from hers. Covered by the blanket of the night, shrouded in complete darkness, her fingers gently and imperceptibly, as if the involuntary gestures of sleep, danced with his. She could hear the faint humming of the air conditioner, the heavy breaths that punctuated his inner mediations, the gentle ruffling of his back against the side of her bed. It was as though, even if he wasn't trying to, he could create these moments of perfect tranquillity. Did he really not know that she could hear him? Perhaps, he secretly hoped that she could.

"He asked me," Abed recalled. "What drives Icarus to fly? What makes men fight dragons?"

_Love, I suppose._ She answered.

"You," he answered.

Her eyes popped open. She stared directly at him, her gaze burning a hole in the back of his head. But he didn't seem to notice. He just continued thinking and looking out of the window at the streetlight that gave the room its only source of illumination.

"I'd do it for you," he said in a matter of fact tone.

_Abed…_

"He's probably right about me," he continued. "But I don't want to change. I like it here. I like where I am now. I like this apartment, I like our friends, I like going to Greendale. And I'm glad that you're here with me."

_Me too._

"He said that I would never understand the hero's journey from the outside, he said that the gods aren't the ones who tell the stories. That is the task of mortals," Abed said as his head drooped with an exasperated exhale. "But I'm not ready for that."

"Oh, Abed." _Wait, did I just say that out loud?_

"You know, the funny thing is. This is part of the journey," he continued, apparently unfazed by her palliation.

_Why wasn't he disturbed by me speaking?_ Annie questioned. _Does he think I'm drunk?_

"The refusal of the call," Abed said.

_I only had three drinks!_

"But I don't think I'm the hero of this story," he said shaking his head a little.

_Okay, maybe I am a bit drunk._

"Things are good. The hero, they always refused the call at first," Abed continued. "But some of them have to actually refuse for good, right? Not everyone gets to go on the journey."

"What's the next step?" Annie asked in a deliberately groggy voice, feigning incoherence.

"The talisman, or supernatural aid," he answered casually. "It's supposed to symbolize a promise, that at the end of the journey that the hero's quest would be worth it. It's supposed to encourage him to take the plunge and to reassure him in his darkest hour."

"Like this?" Annie asked.

She propped herself up and dragged her body closer to the end of the bed. She placed her hand on his cheek and turned his head to face hers. Her hair draped across her face, letting the light from the streets land on her cheeks in long thin bands. Her gaze, completely opened, pierced directly into his. He was terrified. And just then, as a thousand thoughts rushed into his head it completely went blank. As if the whole world had been, in that very instance, erased from existence, with only the faint hint of her body lotion, the warmth of her palm upon his face, and the soft touch of her lips to confirm her presence, she kissed him. Long and deep, unrelenting, passionate, lustful, and comforting, and a thousand other words, whose meanings were always so alien to him, now made sense.

He had his talisman.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter IV**

_The Hero with a Thousand Faces (first published in 1949) is a non-fiction book, and seminal work of comparative mythology by Joseph Campbell. In this publication, Campbell discusses his theory of the journey of the archetypal hero found in world mythologies._

_Wikipedia_

When the smoke had cleared, when the dust settled, and even in the brief, yet eternal, moments before, he knew, that this could only end one way. And sure enough, he was right. There she was, standing above him, in her thigh high combat boots that she had ran home to get, the olive drab shirt and the matching beret, her hair hang partially over her face obscuring the vengeance, resolve, and anguish, all in equal parts, in her eyes. Each successive war has made her more and more accustomed to the rigors of battle and the inured the sinews of her personal valour.

It had been in a moment like this, in a time before memory, for it seemed so long ago, that he had seen this side of her; the side of her that, perhaps in the end, left him in awe; the side of her that he had first fallen in love with. How distant that all seemed now staring down the length of a shiny barrel, loaded with acrylic death.

He had not planned for things to go this way. He thought he did everything right. He had fortified the weaker parts of his perimeter. His cavalry had secured the second landing zone. He was sure that's where she would've been, defending the library. But now, in the midst of overturned chairs and paint covered walls, as the Pyrrhic mayhem subsided, they were the only two left.

He relished his moment of solitude with her. He regretted the circumstances.

She was Mossad and he was now dead.

"Any last words?"

* * *

_Four days earlier…_

**Annie**

She had spent the remainder of the night (or the early hours of the morning) wrestling with what she had just done. Her mind darted back and forth between Jeff and Abed. The kiss had been unexpected even on her part and perhaps it was just the alcohol taking control but it didn't feel like it. What they shared was something real, something inexplicable. He had left a tingling on her lips and bereft of air in her lungs. But at the same time, as much as she wanted to dwell on that moment, her date with Jeff kept creeping back into her mind. She wondered if she had been too harsh with him. She wondered if she was being unrealistic with her expectations. She understood him well enough to know that getting him to open up was no easy task. But she had done it before, plenty of times when he was at Greendale. What was so different about him now? It seemed that she had been losing progress. She remembered the words that Abed said to her when she first got back and was feeling the most insecure_, don't text him_.

He was probably right.

She woke up late in the morning, dehydrated and with a slight headache. Nothing to worry about and nothing she couldn't handle although she did now regret the drinks from the night before. She yanked herself out of bed and into the bathroom where she rinsed her mouth of the residual alcohol and turned on the shower. Stepping in, she could feel the soothing warmth of the water immediately satiate the aches from dehydration in her joints. She massaged herself with a mixture of water and soap.

She could still remember his scent from the night before. With all the vigour of her studious memory she tried to recall every movement of his lips, every flick of the tongue, and the way it seemed to paralyze her body. As her skin started to absorb the moisture from the shower and her headache started to lift, she found that her anxiety about Jeff faded from her mind as well. It seemed at that moment, that she was left with only the memory of Abed's confession and their subsequent kiss.

As the minutes wore on, she found that her breathing became heavy and her nerves started to fray. Suddenly, she found it difficult to stand in the shower. She collapsed to her knees, plugged the tub and it fill up with warm soothing water. She leaned back against the cold ceramic surface, tilting her head back. She faded in and out of her memories, imagining Abed for a moment then coming back to the steamy shower the next.

It was when her toes curled and she let out a real audible moan that she stopped, her eyes opened wide and she realized what she was doing. What exactly was she doing? She thought.

It was just one kiss.

Just quickly turned off the shower, unplugged the tub and grabbed the towel and covered herself. She wiped the mirror clean of the steam and looked at herself, flush red, she thought to herself, _that's just from the heat of the shower right?_

She let herself out of the bathroom and into the cool air of the living room. She tried to catch her breath and reorient her thoughts. Why did she do that? She wondered. What was wrong with her? Was she conflating her dissatisfaction with Jeff with her kiss with Abed? It felt right at that moment, but now she wasn't so sure. And while thinking of Jeff inspired nothing but his image in her mind now, she wondered if she had simply transferred her feelings about him onto Abed. Was she merely projecting? Was that fair to him? She really didn't want to hurt Abed.

But just as she managed to explain it all away in her mind, she was somehow reminded of their kiss from paintball from second year. And again all of those feelings, on her lips and in her loins came rushing back. It had been exactly the same, electrifying. Both times he had managed to awaken something in her that she didn't know she had within her. So that was definitely Abed.

Standing around in her towel she caught a glimpse of the stack of books that Abed had been reading all last night. Among the spines of the books a title caught her eye. _The Hero with a Thousand Faces_, by Joseph Campbell, certainly sounded familiar to her. _This is probably what he was talking about last night. _She picked it up and flipped to a random page.

_When the Prince of the Lonesome Island had remained six nights and days on the golden couch with the sleeping Queen of Tubber Tintye, the couch resting on wheels of gold and the wheels turning continually—the couch going round and round, never stopping night or day—on the seventh morning he said, "'It is time for me now to leave this place._

She quickly released that despite whatever pieces of intrigue that Abed had managed to glean from these pages, the writing style was incomprehensible and arcane. She ran into her room to grab her laptop. Loading up her browser, she typed into the search bar "The Hero with a Thousand Faces" and immediately found some companion material.

_Yup, this is it_, she thought to herself. _Now where were we last night, a magical talisman or something?_

**Abed**

He had lain awake all night only occasionally drifting to sleep only to be awoken by his own perplexity as to what had just transpired. Abed replayed the events in his mind over and over again, he reconstructed what he had said and broke every sentence down and analyzed it trying to understand why she had kissed him and what caused it. Of course the simplest explanation and the one he knew he would ultimately resign to was the fact that she was drunk. It was just that simple.

It was within his nature, developed in part (a significant part) from experience, to have not even considered that whatever he was feeling for her, and indeed he wasn't at all sure what he was feeling for her, that she might have reciprocal feelings for him. Something about Annie always seemed off limits and even in the split seconds, the moments between time, where he had let himself dream, what glimpses he saw of her, in all her radiant beauty, he himself was never apart of those visions. It was probably true then, though even he would be embarrassed to admit it, that he first and foremost worshipped the girl. The girl that spent the time to put him back together after she broke him in the Dreamatorium last year, the girl who had patched up his infected wound from fork jousting, the girl who had been lately teaching him to cook and eat healthy. How could he not?

But he had long ago consigned the matter to the fates that Annie should be with Jeff. As much as he liked to subvert established conventions, there were certain tropes, he must admit, seemed right. And he knew exactly who he was in their five-man-band… of seven. Yeah, it didn't exactly work out but he knew who he was in the group.

But the group was splintering, and they had lost their leader to the outside world. Their group dynamic was changing, could the fates have another plan?

He heard the doors of Annie's bedroom click open. Suddenly, his body, involuntary or not, he wasn't sure, froze up. He waited, unsure of what was going to happen next. Was she coming to confront him? Did she even remember what happened last night? Should he bring it up and try to clear the air? And what could he possibly say to smooth this out? In the old days, Abed could just hang out with Troy until the tension blew over but now that it was just the two of them he knew that it would just grow and grow until it became insufferable. That is, if she remembered. If it wasn't then it would just be a burden (or a fantasy) he would carry in silence forever.

As soon as she entered the bathroom and locked the door, Abed quickly jumped out of bed and got dressed. He ran into the kitchen and loaded a Pop Tart into the toaster and waited. He watched as the seconds of the clock fought against its natural inclination to move. Time seem to slow, telling him, _you can't run away from this._ But he was going to try. As soon as the Pop Tart re-emerged, he snapped it from the machine and bolted out the door.

It wasn't until he had reached the parking lot of his building, that he realized that he was in such a rush to get out of there that he had forgotten his backpack and his books. He paced around, wondering if he should go back upstairs. He concluded that he should wait, Annie didn't take very long in the shower but she did take a long time to get dressed in her room. That was his window to get back into the apartment get his stuff and make an exit without running to her. He stood around waiting for a minute or two just to make sure she was out of the shower. He then ran back into the building, up the stairs and unlocked the door.

His calculations were wrong.

* * *

He found her lying on the ground flipping through his books and browsing on her laptop at the same, with only the towel between her and the tiled floor, kicking her feet as if she were a teenage girl flipping through a magazine. It seemed for a moment that she was so engrossed that she didn't hear him come in. He stood there, watching in disbelief, partly because he didn't know how to react and partly because he had a clear view of her bare butt and he wasn't quite ready to let that image go.

"Ummm," Abed finally managed to say, finally doing the honourable thing and notifying her of his presence.

_Ahhhh!_ Is what she would've said if she wasn't completely caught off guard that she didn't even have the air in her lungs to make an audible noise. She quickly gathered up the towel underneath her and wrapped around her torso.

They just both stayed perfectly silent staring at each other in amazement, horror, and confusion. Neither of them knew what to say or do. Abed tried to recall analogous incidents in TV but he could only find tangentially related situations, whose response somehow didn't seem to fit. Covering his eyes now seems like a feeble and meaningless gesture. But he couldn't just stand there and stare at her could he? She didn't do anything wrong, she had every right to be naked in her own apartment if she wanted to, right? He thought to himself. And his books weren't private, he didn't mind if she read them. What was utterly baffling is why she was doing the two together.

"A..Abed," Annie finally broke the silence. "I didn't mean to—"

"No, it's okay." Abed assured her with his typical confused look on his face.

"Are you mad?" Annie asked meekly.

"No," he answered quickly. "I'm just… confused. Why are you?"

"Reading your book?" Annie asked, completing his sentence.

"Yeah…"

"I was just… wondering about… what you said last night," Annie said. "About the hero's journey, about… us…"

"You remember," Abed said to her as much as he said it to himself.

"Of course I remember. How much of a lightweight do you think I am?" Annie asked with an indignant voice as pushed herself off of the floor.

"I didn't mean it like that. I just thought you and Jeff…" Abed said.

She paused for a moment; that was the name she was afraid of at the moment. And she didn't have a good response to that. He was right to be confused, she was confused.

"What about me and Jeff?" Annie asked cautiously, for lack of a better response.

"Are you sure that kiss last night wasn't just misplaced feelings?" Abed asked.

"I was afraid you were going to think that," Annie replied.

"You were?" Abed asked back cocking his head with bafflement.

"I know what I did was… rash," she replied with a little bit of struggle. "But… you kissed me back."

"I'm sorry?" Abed replied with half an apology and half a question.

Annie smiled. "You don't have to apologize. In fact, I think I should. But… I can't ignore what you said to me last night. I wanted to know what you meant."

Abed just stood there. He shifted his posture a couple of times and a couple of times more he seemed like he was about to say something, only to reset his demeanour back to his stunned silence.

"Abed?" Annie asked with a little hint of worry in her voice.

"I'm sorry, I just don't know how to have this conversation without it sounding like we're in a CW teen drama," Abed explained.

"It's probably because we're in that exact situation," Annie replied.

"Unfortunately, that doesn't help," Abed said.

"But we have to talk about this, don't we?" Annie asked.

"I suppose we do," he replied.

"How about, we… simulate this… in the Dreamatorium," Annie suggested.

"Simulate what?" Abed asked.

"This conversation, we're going to have to have it eventually," Annie replied.

"I don't know if that's a good idea for me, I've been trying to not rely so much on pop culture," Abed replied with consternation.

"Since when?" Annie asked.

"Since…" Abed paused for a moment. "Last night."

Annie blushed as began to smile. "My talisman worked."

"Don't rub it in," Abed replied with his usual tone of voice, pointing at her.

"What if…" Annie began cautiously. "_I_ needed the Dreamatorium? What if I can't sort all of this out, right here? Can you power the Dreamatorium… for me?" She punctuated her words with fluttering eyelashes.

"I suppose," Abed replied.

"Okay, well… I'm going to go get dressed," Annie awkwardly replied. "And I'll meet you in there in half an hour?"

"Why not now?" Abed asked.

"Abed, if we're going to simulate a teen drama scenario we have to dress appropriately," Annie replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You should probably get changed too."


	5. Chapter 5

**Acknowledgements:** I'd like to take a moment to acknowledge of the people who have thus far left reviews for me. It honestly keeps me going. My ego's all like "FFFFFEEEEEDDDDDD MMMMEEEEEE". Lol but don't listen to him, he's an asshole. ezza who was the sole commenter for the first three chapters, thank you so much for sticking with it. I know it wasn't exactly an eventful start. Al, I am honoured by your kind words. And yes, the Dreamatorium is indeed awesome. Coldlioness, great username by the way, thank you for reviewing my story as well, especially now knowing the fact that you don't just dish them out for anyone. I am truly grateful for all your kind words and insight. I can only hope to continue to assume and entertain.

**Chapter V**

_No woman, none of us have to go to anyone. And the idea that we do is a mental illness we contracted from breath mint commercials and Sandra Bullock._

_Jeff Winger_

**Interlude**

"_Tonight, on a very special episode of Heartbreak Beach—"_

"_Abed! This is serious; don't make it into a parody."_

"_Annie, teen dramas are inherently vapid and artless. They prey on the hormonal fluctuations of teenage girls and create false expectations for real relationships."_

"_This coming from the guy who wears a bowler hat and a bathrobe to incessantly fight the same robot aliens over and over again."_

…

"_Okay, point taken."_

**Community**

"Previously, on Community…"

"You can't just go and… _fuck_ your girls," she spat out the words violently. "And use me as your emotional dump."

"He asked me," Abed recalled. "What drives Icarus to fly? What makes men fight dragons?"

"I'd do it for you," he said in a matter of fact tone.

And just then, as a thousand thoughts rushed into his head it completely went blank. As if the whole world had been, in that very instance, erased from existence, with only the faint hint of her body lotion, the warmth of her palm upon his face, and the soft touch of her lips to confirm her presence, she kissed him.

* * *

Perhaps it was an auspicious sign or perhaps it was merely the fact that, now given the time to reflect, he did so about any and all things, he never bothered looking up at the night sky all that much. Regardless of the actual condition of the night, there was something calming about the stars above. The night was unusually cold for this time of year but he'd rather freeze out here, alone, on this familiar rooftop, the site of so many mournful, now seemingly innocent afternoons, spent with his notebook and the wild apparitions of his beautiful mind, than be in there, with them, the agents of his disillusionment.

He had never been to the school at night. Somehow it seemed larger. It felt lonelier with the hustle and bustle of the herds of students changing classes. It used to be that the roof of the school was his own private island; at night it seemed as though with the tides of the multitude receded back to their homes his island expanded out endlessly in every visibly direction. As he surveyed, what he affectionately called "the prison", he supposed in later years, for such were his habits of practiced foresight, that he might look back upon this time in his life with great nostalgia. "The prison" would, in that time, become "the garden" to which he would earn to return to but never will. He could see the irony already.

So what was it about this place? What was it about this time that made him want to escape so badly? When all he's ever had here were the comforts of a life his parents have worked so hard to build for him? Was he merely just another ungrateful teenager of an immigrant family? Torn apart by the perennial culture gap, or worse, simple adolescent petulance? He'd like to think he wasn't as petty as that. Still there was something about _here_ that made him want to rip his heart out.

She was afraid the creaking of the door would betray her presence. Whatever was about to happen, she just wanted it to go well, whatever _well_ entails. This was the first time she had ever been on the roof of the school. Navigating the unfamiliar terrain, she was careful not to step on the broken bottles, used condoms, and whatever other god forsaken thing was up here. She didn't know how she was going to confront him, only that she had to. And she had to tonight. It was the hour of destiny, or at least it felt that way. Something about the occasion of the dance, a recent accidental revelation, and a spontaneous kiss seemed to point to this moment. It was probably all in her mind (and it was) but, she figured, if destiny was just another fairy tale lie that little girls indulged in, this was as good a time as any to really indulge.

She found him standing at the edge of the roof, staring out into the blackness of the field. She'd seen him like this before, lost in his own mind, braving his insecurities and internal trauma, alone, always alone.

Maybe tonight she would ask why.

"They said I would find you out here," Annie called out.

Slowly, he turned his head and peaked over his shoulder. He was slow to move, so to react.

Slow to speak. "Why are you here? Shouldn't you be at the dance?"

_Oh right, first rule of Dreamatorium, just roll with it._ "I would be," Annie continued after a split second fumble. "If you were there."

"You don't want me," he said turning away from here again.

"Why do you assume that?" Annie asked. "Why do you always assume that?"

"I just know Annie," Abed said. "I can't explain it. And honestly, it's not worth trying to. I just know, I knew when you and Jeff were going to win that debate before you even signed up for it. I knew that's when you were first going to kiss."

"I know," she replied as she slowly began to close the distance between them. "And that's why I don't understand why you could be so wrong about this."

He shifted his body to look at her. She had cornered him between the edge of the roof and herself. Something about this scared him. He thought that the Dreamatorium would protect him, he thought the veil of a character would shield him from the feelings he had been trying to suppress. He was losing himself to the dreamscape, he wasn't sure but it seemed like she was too. The way she looked into his eyes, she was in equal measure both, Annie Edison, senior at Greendale Community College, majoring in forensics, and Annie Morgenthau, the bright young heiress to the Morgenthau fortune, smartest and most popular girl at Beverly High, destined to be with Jeff Winger, the OTP.

It seemed so real, too real. There was something different now. Whatever it was, it was beyond his abilities at that moment to control. She was driving the simulation as much as he was. He couldn't just shape events has he liked, he couldn't just create the best possible outcome anymore. No without her consent, not without her agreement and that's what scared him.

His mind kicked into overdrive.

Maybe that was her plan all along. Maybe she knew that this conversation had to take place and maybe she knew that she could trap him here. But why? Why did she need to have this conversation, why wasn't she content to bury what happened like he had (provisionally) planned to?

He didn't know it then, though he would in time learn, that it was precisely because she couldn't just bury it, that drew him so strongly to her. To him, she was fearless. She wasn't afraid to smile, to love, to care, to get hurt, and to cry. Everything that he lacked, that he wished he had the capacity for, was found in her.

"Because, you are so wrong about this," Annie asked.

"I don't think you know what you're getting into…" Abed said taking a step back.

"Then you shouldn't have said those things to me last night!" Annie snapped back.

"I said I was sorry," Abed said trying to avoid her gaze.

"Not good enough," she said.

"What do you want me to say Annie?" Abed asked.

"I wanna know…" she said with a slight quiver in her voice. "Was it true? Everything you said to me last night… was it true?"

"What does it matter?" Abed deflected.

"It matters to me," her voice dropped into a whisper.

She stopped. Tiny droplets of tears formed at the corners of her eyes. She momentarily turned her head away from him to wipe them away. This wasn't exactly what she expected to happen. She thought it would be a way for Abed to say what he wanted to say without feeling ridiculous but instead it seemed as though she was now the one being ridiculous. It seemed a little odd to her that, despite being able to see the lines of the interior of the room if she focused hard enough, she couldn't see the door anymore.

She looked into his eyes, those beautiful eyes, so full of wonderment and sadness. She could see in them their past. A profusion of their history together dressed up in the manners and rituals of impossibly good looking teenagers under the hallowed halls of this school of dreams. Had she lost herself to this fantasy, to this world of torrid emotions and endless drama?

No, no, that's not what she wanted. She panicked.

"Wait, wait, wait. Abed, stop. Stop." She said emphatically, with still a few tears in her eyes.

"What's wrong Annie?" Abed asked.

"This, this isn't working," Annie answered with a weight upon her breath. "Make it stop."

"I can't," Abed said.

"What do you mean, you can't? Just turn it off!" Annie insisted.

"No, really, if you're still seeing it, I can't turn it off for you," Abed said. "The simulation ends when you want it to end."

"Are you still seeing it?" Annie asked.

"Yes," Abed answered with a little hesitation.

"I'm serious Abed, I want out," Annie said.

"Apparently not. This is how the Dreamatorium works," Abed explained.

"Great," Annie said sarcastically. "So we're stuck here."

"We have to finish the scenario," Abed said.

"I don't want to play the character," Annie said as she sat down at the edge of roof, her feet dangling off the side of the building.

"But you still want to ask me," Abed said taking a seat next to her.

She nodded.

"Annie, I'm not good with emotions," Abed began, starting with the obvious but setting the tone for what he had planned to say next. "So it is hard for me to describe or even understand this. I don't know what I'm supposed to feel—"

"Abed," she said shaking her head a little. "I don't care what you're supposed to feel. I want to know what you actually feel. I just want you to be honest. I don't care if it makes sense or not. Not everything has to."

"Are you sure?" Abed asked her.

"What do you mean?" Annie redirected the question.

"You could've played it off. You could've pretended like you didn't remember last night, you had an excuse. You've could've just let me down gently out in the living room. But instead you created all of this." Abed said as he looked around at the night sky.

"You created all of this," Annie said.

"Regardless," Abed said. "What if this, if it isn't you trying to make sense of what happened?"

"Why did you tell me those things?" Annie asked.

"Why did you kiss me?" Abed replied.

She stopped looking down at her feet and locked her gaze to his, forcing him to speak, if not bravely, then at least, honourably. "You're really not going to tell me?"

"I'm afraid, Annie," he said.

"What are you afraid of?" Annie asked. "Me?"

"No," he answered quickly. "And yes." Less quickly. "I suppose I'm afraid that I would ruin everything we had. I was afraid it would end our friendship. I was afraid of… being rejected."

"Oh Abed," Annie said.

"Don't do that."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to," Annie apologized.

"But I… I wanted you to know, somehow, when it meant something I guess. I didn't want to tell you twenty years from now, when we've made our choices in life, and all I had left were my regrets," he said with a big exhale at the end. "I thought telling you last night, was a good half-way point."

They didn't speak for a minute. Annie tried to process what he said the best she could. She had been unprepared. All the Dawson's Creeks and Gossip Girl's in the world couldn't have prepared her for this. Every passionate kiss, every lingering gaze, every grand gesture, for she so often imagined herself in those situations, couldn't compare to the rush of this moment; this silent ethereal moment.

"Girls like me," he continued. "But I never like them back. It's hard for me to connect with people. It's not with you. You're the only girl I've ever wanted. But you belong with Jeff."

For some unexplained reason, at that moment, that name only inspired anger in her.

"Abed, don't do that to yourself," Annie said.

"Look, even beyond the TV stuff, which I maintain is correct ninety-five percent of the time," Abed tried to explain, "you've wanted him for so long. And you deserve to be happy."

"You know what you're mistake is?" Annie asked rhetorically. "You, for whatever reason, think that you're incapable of making me happy. Why on earth do you think that?"

That Abed was not expecting. _That_ he had never really even thought about. Was she right about this? Had he somehow, thought this without even realizing it, as if it were the axiom from all of his scenarios arose?

"Why do you assume that me and Jeff are meant to be? It's literally been years and nothing's happened. And I honestly don't think he wants it to. Look, I get that I can get hung up on guys and that it takes me a long time to grow out of it," Annie said. "But I don't think I've ever given you the impression that I didn't like you, that I _couldn't_ like you. Do you remember paintball?"

"I try not to," Abed answered honestly.

"Why do you torture yourself?" Annie pressed.

"To keep the peace," Abed said staring off into the blackness.

"Haven't you seen It's A Wonderful Life," Annie asked rhetorically. "The world is not better off without you. I'm not better off with you."

Slightly stunned, as if his ears had deceived him, he turned to look at her.

"Don't look so surprised," Annie said with a blush. "I kissed you remember?"

"I just assumed that was a mistake," Abed admitted.

"You're too hard on yourself," Annie said as the tears started to come back. "You're the only boy who's ever liked me for me. I'm sorry I didn't appreciate that."

"Don't apologize," he replied.

"So how about it, Abed?" Annie asked. "Ready to cross the first threshold?"

Abed smiled at her, "you read the book."

She returned his smile in kind. She scooted herself closer to him so that her hands were touching his. She leaned over and gently planted a quick kiss on his lips. She returned to herself and stared into his eyes. They beckoned him. He leaned in slowly at first, then with a swift motion laid her down and pinned one of her hands above her head before slowly landing in for a soft tender kiss. Her back immediately arched up as her free hand instinctually clawed onto his back. It had seemed as he literally stole her breath as for a few brief but intense seconds her lips and her lungs forgot their functions as they pulsed and writhed in the aftermath of his touch.

"Wow... wow…." She stuttered in a gentle whisper still trying to regain her breath. "You're really good at that."

"I've seen it countless times in movies," Abed said. "This is the first time I've had a chance to do it."

It almost escaped their attention but when they finally broke eye contact they noticed that the sky was gone and they were no longer stuff outside on a roof. They were back in the Dreamatorium, yellow lines and all. For a moment Abed wondered when did it all go away and how long they had actually been in there. He had never quite had an experienced like that in Dreamatorium before. He got up off the floor and helped Annie to her feet.

"Wow," Annie said, still flustered. "I can see why you spend so much time in here now."

"That's never happened before," Abed said.

"Really, now?" Annie said in a devious voice. "I'm glad I was the first."

"How was it?" Abed asked.

"A little too melodramatic at first… but then you made up for it," Annie said leaning in with a smile as she tugged on his shirt and pulled him in for another kiss.

"Annie, I want you to know. If we're really going to do this," Abed said looking intently into her eyes. "I really want this to work."

"I know, me too." Annie replied.

"Is it okay if I'm still a little scared?"

"We can be scared together."


	6. Chapter 6

**Acknowledgements:** /ezza, thanks for reviewing as always, you rock!/Al, I like the idea that characters are more than their mere one word traits. I like that because Annie is driven, doesn't mean she always has to be hyper and neurotic, and I refuse to believe that Abed is anything less than human, so there has to be more to him than just pop culture references, stuff that informs his obsession with pop culture not in spite of it. And I think I'm justified in bringing that level of "maturity" (if that's the right word for it), for the sake of honesty. What's the point of these stories if we don't learn more about them, even if it is just my interpretation of them (which I am fully aware of). I also like the idea that the Dreamatorium can be powered by two people collectively, any getting stuck in a scenario is akin to "emotional investment" so they have to sort stuff out because they both secretly really want to despite however uncomfortable they are on the outside./coldlioness, what was wrong with Virtual Systems Analysis, I thought they did a splendid job of it. I thought the use of the Dreamtorium while still maintaining a clear narrative of what was happening underneath was handled well. It didn't spoon feed the viewer, you had to keep track of what was really happening and who was who. Also, I just thought the character development was so strong in that episode, they didn't just let Abed off the hook for being a little bit selfish with Troy, but at the same time they made Annie really patient with him. And likewise, Abed called Annie on her own selfish motives, they make each other better./

**Chapter VI**

_Love is friendship that has caught fire. It is quiet understanding, mutual confidence, sharing and forgiving. It is loyalty through good and bad times. It settles for less than perfection and makes allowances for human weaknesses._

_Ann Landers_

Perhaps there are only brief moments of glory. Perhaps the illusion of greatness is marked by a short but impossibly bright peak, with fond nostalgic memories of its miraculous birth, and a long sustained decline to into oblivion. Or perhaps, greatness was merely a lie, conceived and gestated by the collective consciousness of circumstance and vanity. Perhaps, its chimeric presence is nothing but an inverted mirage of current misfortunes.

Had the ages gone so quickly? Were their victories, both real and spoken (with a degree of Machiavellian cynicism), been so feeble in the face of time incarnate? Did its breath rust and break their immortal deeds like all others before them?

He remembered them once. He stood amongst them and bore witness to their greatness; Jeff the Lion-Hearted, Troy the Truest Repairman, the Valiant Seven, who stood against the tyranny of Chang, most wicked, most foul. Those were the days. Those were the days of heroes.

On the third day of the third week of the second (I know, it was almost perfect) semester, the Committee of the Annual Paintball Game (formerly the Council of Paintball Assassins) and the Lobby for Lasertag, approached, upon the same hour, the office of his eminence, Craig Pelton, whom they esteemed, by respect or by pity, to call Dean. It came to be that upon the House of Hawthorne did the hopes of the Paintballers lie. Making the case for the honour and the long hallowed tradition of the game of Paintball since time immemorial, Pierce applied his skills of flattery and bribery, most bribery, on the Dean. True to form, it was Britta, the Needlessly Defiant, who came to champion the cause of Lasertag.

What began as a private disagreement between two isolated groups, within hours engulfed the entirety of the campus of Greendale with the spectre of civil war. Not since the days before the reign of Chang had such a calamity afflicted them so. But such were the hearts of men and the feeble memories to which they entrust their flawed judgement.

By the fourth hour of the standoff, the debates and shouting of the principle two leaders before the desk of the Dean, had attracted a massive crowd. The unrest of the masses grew and he could feel the weight of oncoming events. Visions of sword, flame, paint, and damaged property invaded his mind. With the great heroes of yesteryear gone, and the Clan of Study Group torn asunder, what hope could be found for Greendale?

The Dean looked upon his people and despaired.

* * *

She couldn't decide if he was perceptive or omniscient, neither of which surprised or animated her, when he pointed out her phone. She thought intensely about what that would mean. Would she have to worry about every off handed comment that she made, would every careless non-committal gesture of no consequence become the target of his all-knowing analytical mind?

She sure as hell wouldn't ever be able to lie to him, much less to herself now that she thought about it. He saw right through him the first time they were in the Dreamatorium. While she was trying to find Abed, with every step she thrust she made, every distraction he unleashed and she withstood, he was fighting a subtle imperceptible rear-guard action until suddenly, she found herself bogged down in the memories of that last day of first year. The worst part is she didn't even realize the truth until he had pointed it out, which means he must've known all along.

"You should probably text him back," he said pointing at her pocket.

Looking down at her phone, barely peeking out of her pocket, she wondered if it was the momentary vibration that tipped him off for she, herself, didn't even notice. She took out the phone and read the name: Jeff. _No thanks_, she thought.

"He's probably just texting to apologize," Abed said.

"Good, his apologies will still be there after this," she said as she took a sip of her milkshake.

"You don't have to try to be nice to me, Annie," he continued. "If you have unfinished business with him from last night, you should deal with it."

"I know, Abed," Annie said in a slightly stern voice, "I just have nothing to say to him right now."

"I'm sorry," Abed apologized. "I'm being weird."

"No, it's okay," Annie said taking another sip from her milkshake, "it is a weird situation."

"Which in itself is weird, because if you think about it, it was always the most likely, if not inevitable, result no matter what and when this was always going to happen," Abed pointed out.

"What do you mean?" Annie asked.

"Unless we had, in some way, met and connected prior to the study group, a near impossible situation," Abed explained, "there would have been no way that either of us would have escaped the irresistible charm and magnetism of the great Jeff Winger."

"I think you give him too much credit, Abed," Annie said with a doubtful laugh.

"I don't think so. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that in all possible outcomes, you would've been attracted to him. You might have even been utterly repulsed by his personality had things in first year been a little different, if your infatuation with Troy really became something, if you had really gone away with Vaughn, if we had happened earlier. But to not have been impacted by him in some way going to Greendale the same time he did," Abed said as he seemed visibly recessed into his mind, "seems utterly impossible."

"If we had happened earlier?" She parroted him as she took the straw scooped some milkshake upon it and fed it to Abed across the table.

"Pierce said something to the effect of, I call them, referring to you and Britta, as the one with flat butt and the one Abed wants to nail," Abed explained. "I think that was you."

"You liked me even back then?" Annie blushingly asked.

"I don't think so, Or maybe I did, it's hard to say. I wasn't as aware of my emotions back then," Abed said, "it's been a long process."

"Awww," Annie instinctually let out.

"So I'm guessing you missed class too today," Abed said.

"Yep, Biochem," Annie confirmed as she took another sip from her milkshake. "It's okay though, this is important."

"I'm glad you think so," Abed said. "The first twenty-four hours are important."

"The first twenty-four hours are the hardest," Annie added. "Where did you hear that?"

"It just always seemed true to me," Abed explained, "We measure moments of significance by days. Even if they are hourly events, we remember the first day of school, the first day of camp, birthdays, the first date for example, it may only take a few hours at the end of the day, but we memorialize that whole day as an annual ritual to be celebrated. There's a natural cycle in a day, as if life is shrunk into a miniature representation. The mornings resembling birth, the midday representing adulthood and the labour of life, and night time and sleep representing death, in essence to live one day is to live one lifetime. The survival of a day reaffirms that we are capable of living this life."

"And surviving it means that we can do it again the next day…" Annie said as her voice slid into a soft despondency.

It didn't escape Abed's notice, how could it? Even if he wasn't exactly sure what she was feeling or even how to recognize it, he could, at the very least, tell that something was wrong. But relating to her, at this level was different than what they were doing before. When they were mere friends, their mutual emotional support, while frequent and reassuring, was limited to the action or offer of sympathy; to know that there was someone in this world that cared about them at that very moment, to simply know that they weren't alone. It wasn't the same anymore, a sympathetic ear was no longer enough and it was no longer enough for him. He wanted to know what she was feeling. He wanted to know how to read her nonverbal emotional cues, skills that he had never acquired or let atrophy in the years of his loneliness.

He didn't expect to fix her, he wasn't that naïve, but he did want her to know, that she could share anything with him. He wanted her to know that even she was dating a weirdo whose mind, manners, and motivations were so utterly different than that of the rest of the world, that he would still be there for her, in every way she needed. He was a long way off from that, he admitted to himself, but he _wanted_ to be that.

"That's what they told us in NA," she said with a slight snuffle before her hand reached up and wiped her eye.

Abed looked down as he processed the words. His brain instinctually ran through the database of appropriate responses to her. This wasn't a revelation; he already knew that she had been in Narcotics Anonymous. Still, it was surprising on some level, as she had always seemed so put together and even in her worst moments never seem to let this side of her slip. He reasoned that despite her current mood that this was a good thing. He got up out of his chair walked over to her. He took her hand and sat down on futon behind the dining table. He gently pulled her from the chair onto him as he laid down on the futon.

As if by instinct, and indeed it was instinct, but neither knew that the other had in their deepest and most private unspoken meditations, imagined this exact moment. Annie wiggled her way up to where she could comfortably lay her head on his chest. He in turn wrapped his arms around her. And _words_? What words were necessary now? Had she say to him that she felt more comfortable and intimate now than she has ever felt? Of course not, he already knew. And did he have to ask if she was comfortable? She was already making herself comfortable as she rubbed her cheek and eyes into his chest.

"You wanna talk about it?" Abed finally spoke.

"What's there to talk about? What happened, happened." Annie said blankly stare at something (nothing in particular) on the other side of the room.

"I know," Abed continued. "I just thought, since you brought it up. You might've wanted to tell me something."

"I guess, I was just reminding you about that part of me," Annie said.

"Why would I need reminding, you've already said that you were in NA, this isn't news," Abed replied.

"I know, but… sometimes, I guess that, and maybe it is partly my fault for being such a control freak, I have this side to me… and it is everything I hate about myself, the loss of control, the emotional highs and lows, sometimes I pretend that part of me doesn't exist. And I guess I pass on that image to people in my life. But it exists and it will always be there… crazy Annie…."

Abed gently began to stroke her hair. "I know, Annie, I haven't forgotten. You're a juggler, like your school load, you in your life try and believe you can do everything and despite many failures, you maintain this belief. You had a nervous breakdown because of your Adderall addiction which changed something in you. While you still now try to do everything, you do it now in the spirit of hopeful optimism instead of a place of insecurity. You're driven by your passions but easily hindered by the easy provocations of others. You are unafraid of anything but the most trivial things in fiction. You are significantly nicer than your hotness would suggest. You care more than anyone with your scars should be capable of."

"Hmmmmm…" Annie hummed with a growing sense of consternation in expression and her voice. She kicked her feet on the futon as she said, "I don't know if I like that."

"Sorry, did I do something wrong?" Abed asked.

"No, no, no," Annie dismissed. "It's just that it is a little disconcerting that you can read me so easily like that."

"If I'm wrong, you should tell me. I don't want to have an inaccurate idea of who you are," Abed replied.

"No, it's accurate," Annie said, "it's really accurate. That's the disconcerting part."

"How so?" Abed asked.

"Look, it's gonna be a long way off from now so you really don't have to worry about it but," Annie explained, "sometimes a woman needs to lie to herself, nothing serious, but sometimes we just need it to get through something, and in those moments I'll need you to lie _with_ me. Not lie to me, let's never lie to each other, but lie with me. It's hard to explain, I hope you'll indulge my irrational moments, Abed."

"I understand, in many ways, that's what the Dreamatorium is for me," Abed said. "We make believe, there's no shame in that."

"Ugh, you're saying all the right things," Annie complained with a smile on her face, sliding her palms his.

"I'm trying to be open and honest, it feels… really good, actually," Abed said.

"Well, don't try too hard," Annie said as she propped herself and kissed him. "It shouldn't be hard. Let's not rush it. I feel good right now. Let's just get passed the next twenty-four hours."

"Sounds good to me."


	7. Chapter 7

**Acknowledgements:** /ezza: It's okay, I don't need you to write an essay about my story lol. I'm writing for you guys, not the other way around. I'm just really glad that you enjoy the story and you appreciate it enough to leave me a nice message each update. Have you read Loose Ends? It's fantastic!/ coldlioness: Oh, I didn't actually know about the behind the scenes stuff. For certain shows where I find the characters to be so animated and so fun, I try to keep away from the behind the scenes stuff because I don't want to know the actors as people, I just want to preserve them as characters lol. Which is why I know very little about the Community outside of the episodes. Although, I do like listening to Dan Harmon himself talk about the show, he seems like a perfectionist but he has a real passion for the show. And yes I have seen the trailer for season 5. POP POP!/Al, one of my biggest fears when writing these stories, not just for Community but fan fiction in general is that you can explore the characters so much more thoroughly than the show and sometimes that character growth alienates the character from the fan fiction from the canon. I'm always trying to keep the essence of the character of the show in the story but also shedding more light on them, it's a balancing act I find, and one that is hard to pull off sometimes. With Abed in particular, it is especially difficult because if you listen to his dialogue, outside of his pop culture references he talks like a regular human being. It's just Danny Pudi's delivery of the lines that gives it its unique Abed-ness. And that's really hard to convey in written text so I just hope that when people are reading it they are reading in with Abed's inflections and rhythms because I can't really provide that for people. And yes, there is a confrontation with Jeff coming, but no spoilers, so don't tell nobody ;)/

**Chapter VII**

_There are so many ways to be brave in this world. Sometimes bravery involves laying down your life for something bigger than yourself, or for someone else. Sometimes it involves giving up everything you have ever known, or everyone you have ever loved, for the sake of something greater. _

_But sometimes it doesn't._

_Veronica Roth_

The day began for both them in a confused and nerve-wracking manner. Certainly, there was much excitement, wonderment, and tepid optimism on both sides of the wall, but much of it was overshadowed by the overwhelming sense of _what the fuck just happened_? And while that burning unrest neither diminished nor erupted entirely, it was however later in the day accompanied by a new found sense of bliss. For his part, Abed assumed that this was the natural feeling that his favourite TV characters tried to describe, with so much ineffectual vagaries, when they enter into a new romance arc, but he had never experienced it himself firsthand. Annie on the other hand had mixed feelings about it all, and by that, she meant that she was worried that she didn't have mixed feelings about it. She worried over the fact that the name of Jeff Winger inspired neither frustration nor inconsolable lust. She was worried all that she would have normally expected to feel in this situation she wasn't. She felt, content, happy, and just a little giddy.

It seemed almost natural, despite her natural inclinations, to watch Abed as he did the dishes and put away the myriad of bowls, mugs, glasses, and utensils that they had variously used today. It was a far cry from the situation that she had encountered when she first moved in. While, neither Tory nor Abed were excessively messy, they were utterly incapable of some of the most menial things. She wondered if his obsession with buttered noodles was because of his genuine love of it or because of its convenience factor. Regardless, she had managed to get him to eat a little healthier now it and it was easier than she had expected. Sitting on her chair, formerly Troy's, she nursed her tea and reflected on the events of the day. She closed her eyes and imagined herself back on that rooftop, mere hours ago, but already inscribed into the legend of her memories. Later she would say that their first date took place onto of a rooftop in the middle of the night for to her it was real.

Abed on the other hand, as if switching roles with the rest of humanity, thought little of the events of the day. Sure, he was still apprehensive about how this all started but it seemed to feel right and he had a week earlier, after his conversation with Professor Krimmer, resolved that he would try to, at least little by little, live his life instead of trying to examine it from every angle. It was difficult initially difficult for him although less so when she would gently stroke his face when he drifted off into the recesses of his mind. He found that it was hard for him to concentrate when she did that, and maybe that was a good thing.

If by their subconscious design, or by natural inclinations, they had decided to cocoon themselves in their apartment for the first few hours of their newly minted relationship, so new that it was without definition, it slowly took on the form of a challenge. Nothing menacing or uncomfortable, both of them wanted to be there, but it was something that whether by mutual consensus or just the urge to be together, they had decided to skip all their classes today, lock the door, create a nice spread, and simply spend time with each other. It began with Abed making a milkshake for Annie, which she in turn reciprocated by making gourmet sandwiches for lunch, which lead to Abed breaking out Pop Tarts, which lead to buttered noodles (for old times' sake) and eventually to afternoon tea. When it had all been consumed and their conversations had meandered into the fanciful, secretly pushed in that direction by Abed, for he loved the sound of her laughter, and he had done the gentlemanly thing of cleaning up, it occurred to them that despite skipping all of their classes, they might still want to join the study group for their meeting.

"So what happens next?" Annie asked as Abed sat down beside her in his chair, gently blowing on his tea.

"I suppose we have to outside and meet the real world, we'll eventually have to tell the group," Abed answered.

"No, I mean in this?" Annie said holding up his book with her finger stuck in the chapter to which she estimated that they had currently reached. Apparently she had been intensively reading through it while Abed cleaned up. "Are we in the Belly of the Whale?"

"Confined captivity, certainly sounds like the belly of a whale," Abed said taking a sip of his tea.

"It says something about, final separation and metamorphosis," Annie said citing key portions of the text.

"Campbell speaks of it in terms of self-annihilation and rebirth, a full commitment to journey ahead," Abed explained. "For Jesus, it was the baptism in the River Jordan. For Moses it was his return to Egypt." He said as he grabbed the book from Annie, and much to her utter dismay, tossed it across the room. "Campbell's wrong a lot too."

He held out his hand. Annie looked at it for a second, anticipating the worst (or the best), put her tea down, and sure enough he, with a sudden rush of his unusual and often forgotten strength pulled her on top of him in his chair. They sat there for a moment and gazed into each other eyes. Her hands crept up his chest until they reached his face. She leaned in and gently planted a kiss that once again left her momentarily stunned.

"Okay… seriously…" she said in a soft whisper with her eyes still closed and her face hovering just inches away from his, "how do you do that? Is there a trick or something?"

"I'm not sure what you mean," Abed answered.

"That thing, that electric feeling… that leaves me breathless," Annie stuttered out as she couldn't find the words to describe the sensation.

"I'm not doing anything special," Abed replied.

She simply smiled and collapsed into him. She hadn't realized it before but there had been so many moments where she would steal his touch, hold on to his arm, a comforting hug, or generally be in his vicinity, all of which made so much sense in light of recent events. She enjoyed his physical presence.

"Do you think we pigged out a little too much," Annie asked.

"Probably," Abed answered, "but I wouldn't worry about it. I never gain weight and you seem the same way. Or at least since the time I've known you."

"That's because I don't eat like you Abed," Annie said.

"Regardless," Abed said, "it's just for one day."

"Abed, can I ask you something?" Annie said in a slightly serious tone as she pushed herself a little.

"Yeah, sure," Abed replied.

"Why do you like me?" Annie asked simply.

"What do you mean?" Abed asked.

"I know you like me; I'm not worried about that or anything. I just want to know _why_, "Annie asked.

"I suppose it's cute that you are aware of the effect you have on me," Abed said, "but then again, I hadn't really shown it before. I don't really know how to describe it. Being around you makes me happy. I love watching you watch Cougar Town. I love the bounce in your step when you are in a happy mood. I love the way you're not afraid to care about people. You taught me that and I'm starting to figure out why that's so important."

"You've thought a lot about this, haven't you?" Annie asked.

"I suppose I have, more so lately, since the beginning of this screenwriting class," Abed replied.

"Abed, I haven't thought about this as much as you have yet," Annie said as if confessing to some imaginary crime, "for me, it's barely been a day. And I hope that you don't mistake my insecurity or emotional confusion as doubt."

She reached up and kissed him again, stealing his touch as she had ever done before, now free to do it whenever she liked.

"I want this," Annie whispered. "I _really_ want this. And I need you to know that."

"Okay, I understand," Abed said as he kissed her again.

And for a while, they stayed there in that position, making out and trying to talk through their feelings, although mostly they just tongue wrestled. On some level certain things about this arrangement were unresolved; the seemingly backwards development of their relationship escaped neither of their attention. At the same, they did enjoy the fact that they were already roommates and the usual feeling of euphoria and the torment of being away from one another that most couples experience within the first few weeks of courtship, had in this apartment, facilitated the upmost intimacy and bliss that either of them had ever experienced in their lives. For her, it was the desire and ability to kiss him and feel that rush whenever she wanted to, and for him, it was the mere sweetness and softness of her body that made him melt.

They did, however, resolve after much back and forth, and false starts to get up, get changed, and go to school for their study group meeting. On the drive there they discussed if and if so, how they would tell the study group about them dating. Annie had imagined it as if they were engaging; holding each other's hands as they entered the study room, no doubt with a smile on her face and a hop in her step. He imagined that they would sit in their regular seats and calmly and concisely lay out the information for everyone and see how they would react.

"Don't you already know how they are going to react," Annie asked while trying to keep her eyes on the road.

"Nope," Abed answered, "I've never actually simulated this scenario before, I didn't think it was a possibility."

"Awwwww," Annie instinctually let out as she reached over and held his hand.

Abed was the first to notice as they pulled into the desolate parking lot. While Greendale did empty out pretty thoroughly after class, there were usually still a few after school clubs and late classes that saw the comings and goings of a few select individuals, rarely was the campus completely devoid of life. Annie had pulled into her parking spot and was about to get out when Abed reached over and grabbed her by the wrist.

"Something's wrong," Abed said intensely as he scanned the environment trying to figure out what was going on.

"What is it?" Annie asked as she slowly closed the door again.

"I don't know," Abed replied, "text someone. Ask them where they are."

Annie pulled out her phone and sent a text to both Britta and Shirley. They sat there for a few minutes but no reply came.

"What do we do?" Annie asked.

"We have to move," Abed said in a slightly lower register.

They both stepped out of the car, one after another, watching the desolate landscape all around. They wondered where everyone was and why they couldn't get in contact with the study group. Abed grabbed her hand and started to make his way towards the quad always sticking by a wall to cover his back.

"Abed, what's going on?" Annie asked.

"I have no idea," Abed answered.

As they cleared the quad it became obvious that the silent desolation was the result of some recent catastrophe. Entering the library, they noticed as knocked over garbage cans and the graffiti on the walls, most of it utterly illegible, but as this semester was the first time that Greendale had offered a graffiti class and can control is a lifelong skill, the subpar penmanship was completely understandable. What didn't make sense was why the walls of the library had been tagged. There was a designated graffiti wall behind the gym, near Parking Lot #5.

They found the study room overturned and ransacked. Their table had been knocked over and, it too, was completely desolate of people except for themselves. Annie paced around the room examining the apparently carnage with an expression of horror on her face. Abed found something on the bulletin board something that caught his attention.

_Place your faith in the House of Hawthorne…_

The poster read.

"Uhhh, Abed…" Annie said with a quiver in her voice.

Abed turned around to find Annie standing and staring at something with an expression of pure and utter dread upon her face. He walked over to where she was and found…. paint.

"Paintball… no, it can't be... it's too soon," Abed said under his breath.

"It's happening…" Annie's cried out as she began to hyperventilate.

Abed grabbed her by her shoulders and turned her away from the pain stain on the ground. He put his hands on her face and leaned his forehead against hers. He started breathing heavy with her only to slow down and release and successive breath with more steadiness and control. Annie, her hands still trembling, put her hands on his chest as she began to mimic his breathing.

"We're going to get through this…." Abed said to her as soon as she had calm down enough, "we have to stick together, okay?"

"Okay," Annie said as she regained control of herself, "okay."

Just then as his hands fell from her face and Annie leaned in against his shoulder, she saw in the gentle movements of her hair, subtle vibration. And with each successive second, it grew more pronounced.

"Drums… drums in the deep," Abed murmured to himself.

"What is it?" Annie asked as she straightened herself to stand on her own again.

"We have to move," Abed said.

He grabbed her by the hand and began to run. He made for the main entrance of the library but could see from the glass doors the approach of a mass of shadowy figures. He could still hear the drums from behind him. Whatever this was, whatever game was being played now, they were now about to be caught right in the middle.

They made their way down the hall of the library, although he knew that that would only buy them a few extra minutes at most. Winding through the corridors, he decided that their best bet was to hide and hope that the armies would clash and leave them unnoticed. They found a little nook in between two tall bookshelves. Abed instructed Annie to go crouch down. Abed then shifted the bookshelves to screen her and knocked over a few books to further camouflage their little makeshift shelter, taking care to make sure that the destruction looked like another natural occurrence of previous battles.

Abed once more inspected the surroundings before he slipped into the little shelter that he just built. He found Annie sitting down on the floor waiting for him. He took a seat next to her and let out a sigh of relief. She curled up next to him and laid her head down on his chest.

"So what do we do now?" Annie asked.

"We wait until the coast is clear," Abed answered staring off into the distance, trying to play out the probable events of the battle on the other side of the library, "then we make for your car."

"How long will that take?" Annie asked.

"I don't know," Abed said, "fifteen, maybe twenty minutes?"

They sat there for a while silently, as they listened to the sounds of a distant battle echo across the hallway, the sound of human screams, and splattering paint filled their eyes as it grew ever louder each time they thought it was over. With each wail, Annie pressed her ear tighter against Abed's chest and squeezed his hand. He stroked her hair gently and rhythmically in response.

"Do you remember Paintball at the end of second year?" Annie asked as she propped herself up to look at Abed.

"Of course, how could I forget?" Abed replied.

"You said you tried not to think about it," Annie teased.

"I know, but things are different now," Abed said.

"Yeah, they are, aren't they?" Annie said as her voice started to change.

"What's going on?" Abed said sensing the change in her tone.

"I think you know," she said as he straddled him and leaned him to kiss him. "The first time we ever kissed was during paintball…"

It felt like it may have been his turn to say something but nothing came to mind. He could only stare at her words slowed and her movements became more seductive. He knew what she was doing, he wasn't stupid. But he was acting stupid, not sure of what do to or what to say, he looked at her trying to not make an expression, for any sign of apprehension could deter the moment, and despite his actual anxieties about this moment, he did not want it to stop.

"I want our first time," Annie said as she slid off her cardigan to reveal her shoulders and the tank top underneath, "to be during paintball as well."

"I don't know if that's a good idea," Abed let slip.

Undeterred she answered, "It was good enough for Jeff and Britta," she leaned in and kissed him again. "And we're way better than them."

Surprised at her determination, Abed felt, as if it were completely involuntary, his hands slid up her side and underneath her tank top. She let out a soft moan. She started, slow almost imperceptibly at first, to grind her hips against his. She leaned in once again and took his mouth into hers. His eyes closed and used his hands to feel and navigating across her body. She began to unbutton his shirt. His hands gripped the hem of her tank top as she lifted her arms to let him slip it off. She grabbed him by the wrist and pinned his hands above him. With her other hand she reached behind her and unclipped her bra.

"So we're really doing this?" Abed asked.

"Hell yeah we are."


	8. Chapter 8

******Acknowledgements: **/kazzyshah & sarj2490: keep reading ;) / coldlioness: Really? Or are you just saying that because you know I have a soft soft for Annie and Abed? / Thanks for the compliment. I'm glad someone noticed that I've been playing around with narrative styles to capture the varying episode styles on the show. And there's plenty of plot-awesome to come. /

**Chapter VIII**

_At the risk of seeming ridiculous let me say that the true revolutionary is guided by a great feeling of love._

_Che Guevara_

_He watched her intently as she buttoned up her cardigan. Her delicate fingers slid from one to the next tucking each plastic coin through the fabric and letting it fall into place. She didn't look at him but the wily smile upon her face betrayed her obliviousness. Her hair had been messy, messier than he had ever seen it before but somehow, perhaps, in its own wild way, the most beautiful it had ever been. It almost seemed as though, given the opportunity, by circumstance of war, the rush of impending disaster, she had committed herself to her wildest desires; a wordless act (so to speak, expletives in the midst of passion not withstanding), that spoke louder than her voice ever could._

_And when it had all been done, something inside her felt accomplished, something about her inhibitions felt vindicated, as if both in the same moment, a feeling of gladness that she had waited for the perfect person to reveal her innermost self, and that she did with the utmost commitment to her secret passions and her animal fury._

_Abed dragged his fingers gently across his chest, where the marks of her lust had laid claim. He remembered with great fondness the grind and buck of her hips against his, the way her hands pressed against his chest, and they curled and dug in. He remembered the moans that occasionally erupted into screams, the way her hands ran through her hair as she lost all her senses to their tryst, he remembered her heavy breaths upon his cheek as they once and again locked eyes as if, at once, pleading for him to be gentle and begging him to go harder, but most of all telling him, with the mere glint in her pupil, how much she loved him._

For a while that's all he could remember. But as the sound of the creaking door snapped him from his trance-like state and the smell of potatoes brought him back.

"_Ahhhhh!" He then remembered, the scream ringing in his ear._

"_Annie! No!" He responded with the loudest, most desperate plea of his life._

The cold fluorescent light flooded his eyes as the sack was removed from his face. Before his eyes came into focus a splash of cold liquid drenched his face and shoulders. Diet Sprite. He spat a couple of times violently as he shook his head trying to clear his eyes of the carbonated sugar water. He bucked violently against the chair, testing the limits of his restraints. They were tight and well-fastened.

Which was all the more surprising when he heard his captor's voice for the first time, "how'd that taste?"

_Chang._

"Dreaming about your little squeeze?" he said as he paced around the small dank room.

As the light began to normalize, Abed examined his surroundings and deduced that he must've been in a storage closet somewhere on the west side of campus. The interior walls' exposed brickwork had no paint on them and once the scent of carbonated aspartame cleared his nostrils he could still smell the faint trace of bleach and cleaning detergent of years of unused idleness.

"I have to say Abed," Chang said as he swung around his baton, "I'm impressed. I mean really, Annie Edison, she's just slightly out of your league."

Abed kept his head low and stared at the ground. His fingers worked tirelessly, though fruitlessly, to undo his restraints. Staring at his shiny leather shoes, he couldn't help but analyze Chang's pacing. And while it afforded him no real advantage, no insight into a plan of escape, or even a character weakness that he might, and in this case, desperately need, to exploit, it helped him keep his mind off of his desperate and confused condition.

"But she's gone now," he said with his signature tone of mocking-levity, "much better to embrace your new life."

"What do you want Chang?" Abed finally said, "I'm not interested in this game."

"But you love paintball!" Chang replied with a roar, and then slowly, as he lowered himself to his eye level, sitting back on his heels revealing his former security guard uniform, donned once again, he repeated in a menacing soft gentle voice, "you love paintball…"

"I love…" he hesitated.

Chang smiled deviously, triumphantly, "can't even say it."

He rose to his feet once again and returned to his pacing and aimless rambling.

"You know, I don't have a very high opinion of you," he said, "but of course you already know that. You know that I think you're a nerd, a weirdo, a sociopath, an aloof idiot. But you know what I never thought you were? A coward. Until now, that is…"

Abed could tell by the intonation of his voice, his mannerisms, as pompous, if not completely comical, displays of authority, that he was just taunting him and yes all is fair in love and paintball, but somehow, it hurt to hear those words; more than it had ever hurt before. Perhaps because on some level this mattered to him, perhaps because it was about Annie that it burdened his soul and his ideas, however few and however oddly conceived, about his own self-worth, she had made him feel special, she had made him feel good about himself. And before he could even process what that meant to him, they had been found out, by Chang no less and torn apart.

"If you're gonna shoot me, just shoot me already, don't drag it out," Abed said.

"Ohh, how naïve you are…" Chang said as he leaned forward and raised Abed's gaze by his chin.

* * *

It wasn't the paint, it wasn't the desolation of giddy man-children, whose boots, elbows, and seasonally fashionable scarves wrecked the bulletin boards, trash cans, and countless other unnoticeables in times of peace, now so horrifyingly desecrated, that garnered Abed's notice. It was when the door creaked open and he saw him sitting there. Calm, though heavy of heart and breath he could tell, as he could be. No longer was he cowering in the corner, awe-struck by the fearsome barbarity that he had wrought. Perhaps time and the wisdom of experience had taught him how to deal with this annual and inevitable war.

Dean Pelton sat at his desk, as if it were throne. And upon him lay a heavy crown. His eyes moved slowly and his lips, slower. What had wrought this curse of diminution Abed could only guess; perhaps the toll of successive paintball wars had finally broken him. Perhaps in the tempering of his nerves so too had they frayed and become impervious to the concerns and sufferings of the lowly peons.

He, without a single word, gestured Abed to sit in the chair in front of him. Abed did so with the same stoic simplicity he had done all things, well… most things.

"I assume you know why you are here, Abed," the Dean said in a low growling voice.

"Not really," Abed replied, "and I don't understand why you've started the paintball game so early this year."

"Oh but it wasn't my idea," the Dean replied as he threw up his hand as if the heavens would save him, "the paintball and the lasertag factions marched into my office, each pleading to make the other go away. At first I tried to listen to both sides and make an informed decision. But soon the situation devolved into anarchy!"

He paused.

And whispered, "anarchy!"

Abed sat still and silent as he tried to process their current predicament. But for the first time in his vivid memory, the thought of paintball did not animate him. The surging of creativity, imagination, and adventure, that so long and so entirely held him, was no longer there. As if a curse had been lifted from him, that which strung him out in all directions at once, the urge to live and experience all stories, had somehow cast off and in its place was only one thought; Annie.

"So I thought to myself, what would a good leader do?" Dean Pelton continued oblivious to Abed's internal revelation, "so I did what Solomon did. I split the issue."

"How do you split an argument?" Abed asked.

"Well I didn't… split it," the Dean said, "I… made them play for it."

"You mean a game of paintball?" Abed asked.

"No, no, no," the Dean answered derisively, "that wouldn't be fair now would it? No, I made them strap on the lasertag sensors as well. It's a paintball lasertag extravaganza!"

"You know that's crazy right?" Abed asked slowly growing suspicious of the Dean's sanity.

"Is it, Abed?! Is it?!" The Dean said with manic joy, "is it any crazier than holding this ridiculous tournament every year anyways? I mean we always trash the school, we always almost bankrupt it, yet we do it anyways!"

The Dean paused for a moment as his face returned back to its original stoic pose. He puts his hands down gently on the desk and sat down on in his chair and took one long deep breath.

_Exhale._

"I'm sorry, that was rude of me," the Dean said quietly, "you have to understand something Abed. Being Dean is not easy. The decisions that are made in this office have repercussions. It affects people's lives. Do you know how heavy that weighs on my soul?"

"Can I go now?" Abed asked, pointing at the door.

"No, no, no, Abed. I need you." Dean said as he slammed his clenched fist down on the table.

"For what?" Abed asked.

"To end this conflict," the Dean answered emphatically.

"I'm not sure what I can do about this," Abed said.

"Oh Abed, I know that the Study Group isn't what it used to be," the Dean started to explain, "but this school needs hope. It needs you guys."

"I really don't think that is feasible without Jeff," Abed replied, "Britta and Peirce have been at each other's throats lately. Shirley has been awfully busy with the Sandwich shop…"

He stopped short of mentioning Annie although he must've been informed at this point of their activities in the library and in the state in which they were captured.

"I know what you want, Abed," the Dean said deviously, "I heard what went down earlier today. It was a shame. But I'm offering you an opportunity to make it right. I'm offering you a way to get Annie back from the paintball faction."

"I'm not sure what you're asking me," Abed said.

"Lead!" the Dean exclaimed, "lead… this is your destiny Abed Nadir."

"You want me to lead… the opposition forces?" Abed asked, as if his ears had momentarily deceived him.

"You fought valiantly against the hordes of City College. Your tactical mind made you a _lion amongst men _in the last civil war," the Dean pontificated, "who else should? Who else could lead a tiny, outnumbered, outflanked group of disparate radicals to immortal glory?"

The Dean as if animated by the spirits of desperation and the anger of gods, threw off all that had been sitting on his desk, planted his hands firmly on the table, leaned forward, and breathed the breath of dragons as he stared deep into Abed's eyes.

"Who else…" he said in a low voice, "but you?"

"Aren't you supposed to be impartial in this conflict? Afterall, you set the stage for these two camps to battle it out for supremacy," Abed asked.

"Oh Abed, Abed, Abed, Abed," the Dean said as he surrendered his strength to his swivel-throne again, "of course, impartiality is all well and good… but… isn't it obvious, that this school could benefit from a game of lasertag every year instead of paintball? Think about it, no more month long clean ups, no more, personal injury lawsuits, no more destroyed property, or less of it anyways…"

The Dean paused for a moment to take off his glasses and rub his temples with his fingers.

"A man in position has two faces, one more the public, and one for himself," he said wearily, "it's why I have so many costumes. In public, I am a populist, I want what the students want. But in my mind, in my heart of hearts, Abed, I want… what's best for the school. Don't you understand?"

"I do," Abed said clearly, "but I think I am going to have to pass. This war doesn't concern me. But good luck to you."

As he stood up he could feel, noticeably, that the seconds were getting longer. He could feel his stride lengthen and the moments of his thoughts stretch from their beginning off into eternity. He knew this feeling and yet he could not stop it. It was the gentle yet all-encompassing hand of inevitability.

"You don't think they've turned her yet?" the Dean said, "Shirley and Pierce, you don't think she'll fight for them? What do you think they're doing right now? Perhaps, reminding her of all the good times, all of her fond memories of paintball. You don't think they are using _that kiss_ to convince her to defend the tradition of paintball? Annie has always cared about this school, perhaps too much. You put a gun in her hand and there's no stopping her."

Abed turned towards the Dean again.

"I'm offering you a chance to save her, from all of this," the Dean said, "and to end this… once and for all."

"That's not me," Abed said.

"No," the Dean concurred, "it's Jeff."

And even if he could see exactly what the Dean was doing, even he could sense the indignant taunt of a petty warlord, a ploy older than time itself, perhaps that's why it was used so often, it irked him. It made him feel that rage, that contempt for idleness, the need to battle.

"Whatever is happening between you and Annie," the Dean said softly, "I wish you all the best. But you cannot have her. You can't, Abed. Unless you conquer Jeff. And you know this, in your mind, and in your soul, and in your body, and in your heart. You know this to be true."

The Dean stood up and made his way around the desk. He placed himself behind Abed, his fingers gently landing on his shoulders, his mouth nearing ever close to his ear, and if there wasn't an actual sound, a metaphorical hiss; the perennial serpent, who seduces men by their base and weak desires, fuelled by their fear and insecurity. He pushed him down into his chair again, locking Abed into his mind and sent him spinning into a spiral of oh-so-subtle, self-doubt.

"This is what you were born to do," he said as if his voice had indeed transformed into that of a snake, "why run from it? Rise… and rise again…"

"This is the hero's journey," Abed whispered to himself.

"Precisely…." The serpent-Dean said as his scaly fingers massaged his shoulders, "And the hero… gets the girl."

Just then, in the moment of fateful decision, the doors of his office were rudely and abruptly opened. They both turned to look. Britta charged in, dressed black leather boots, a cross between fetish and combat wear, her tank-top ripped at the shoulder, her hands darkened from the hours and hours of relentless combat, her hair, oddly perfect. She took a few moments to catch her breath.

"Dean," she panted out, "we have a situation."

The Dean looked down at Abed one more time, "I'll leave you to think about my offer."


End file.
